


Better Than That

by KorrohShipper



Series: Happy Steve Bingo 2019 [6]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Happy Steve Bingo 2019, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Power Outage, Steggy - Freeform, Steggy baby, Time Travel, blackout - Freeform, fireplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:34:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21670498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KorrohShipper/pseuds/KorrohShipper
Summary: "I’m just saying, between celebrating Christmas on the run or in the trenches, in front of the fireplace seems nice.”Peggy rolled her eyes fondly and gave his cheek a playful but resounding smack. “Just because it’s better doesn’t mean it’s how it should be.”
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Series: Happy Steve Bingo 2019 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1529297
Comments: 3
Kudos: 54





	Better Than That

**Author's Note:**

> Squares filled: @happystevebingo - In Front of a Fireplace  
> @happystevebingo - Power Cuts & Blackouts

“ _Vroom_!”

It was one of those sounds that you don’t get to understand until it actually happened.

Steve was in the living room then, happily scanning the evening paper when suddenly a loud sound echoed throughout the suburbs. One by one in quick, almost unnoticeable succession, the lights in each and every house went out.

There was this small moment when, after the darkness had veiled the entire house, Steve stared at the pitch duskiness, wondering for a short moment what went wrong so that he couldn’t read the comic strip in front of him.

A kid shouted from across the street. “No power!” the child whined, almost impertinently like he wasn’t given any dessert after dinner.

It was also then, in that short moment, that he padded the newspaper into a neat fold and stood up. His eyes had already adjusted to the darkness, but somewhere, sometime in between, his hands lingered on the side.

His palms pressed against each side pocket, once and then twice. There was no tell-tale bulge to be felt.

A sense of annoyance surged through him, ready to call out Clint or Tony when he realized—he wasn’t in the future anymore.

No one pranked him or stole his phone and kept it away for some elaborate prank to show how much of a boomer he was.

Tony was dead, sacrificed himself for a future that he would never get to see, and Clint finally got what he wanted all those years ago—a quiet retirement, away from the fights and the eyes that pried and pried.

The sound of nothingness, the absence of that same New York thrill that buzzed, day in and out, unnerved him. It was like the moment before the plane hit the water, when the shaking of the metal frame began to reach a fever pitch and just when he thought it would break and shatter in a million pieces, it stopped.

Or, like that moment when Tony held his hand up, rocket thruster worn in place and his veins popping up as the stones glowed a menacing shade. He thought there would be something, he didn’t know what but knowing Tony, something big.

But it was quiet. Just one snap.

Steve never thought he’d go quietly like that, willing and ready, but he did.

And that was how he felt now, the calm before the storm, his hands frozen up and strung altogether, tensed and unmoving, waiting for the other foot to drop.

In his mind, he was waiting to wake up in Time Square, taking in all the horns of the big cars or the shouting that floated above the noise. The electronic _beeps_ and _boops_ that seemed to ring on and on.

Steve expected to hear all of those—with his hand on his waist, hovering for his phone—he expected to have it on him, too. A reminder, a staunch and unmoving sense that he was forever out of time, no matter when he was in time.

But there was nothing. Not a single sound.

Just a quiet hush that fell around him.

It was only then, as he stood in the twilight of the darkness, did he hear the small pitter patter of familiar feet.

Peggy stood on top of the stair case, a lit candle in one hand, their seven month-old in one hand.

“See?” she cheered on to their daughter, Sarah, whose face was streaked with dried tears. “We’re fine, my darling.”

The paralysis wore off by then, greeting his family in the middle, taking their daughter from her arms, feeling a sense of safety in Sarah.

Steve glanced outside.

His lips tugged down. No signs of power coming back on soon.

A part of him wanted to head on to the fuse box, make sure to fix it all to off before the power would come back on. But with Sarah already falling fast asleep in his arms, he found that moving away and laying his daughter down on the sofa felt like a mistake.

Instead, he held on—that was, until, Peggy found her way to the fireplace, a small flame lingered on the side before a warm light soaked in room.

Peggy looked incredibly pleased with herself, a sense of triumph in the way her head was held up high, and Steve found that he couldn’t bear to look away.

Hands planted firmly to her side, her skin looked sun-kissed in the warm light that bathed all over her. Cold winter wind already began to set in and the absence of their heater made for a terrible way to start December.

But with his daughter and wife, even in the darkness of New York blackout, Steve found, as he settled on the warmed comforter Peggy placed on the sofa cascading to the ground, just in front of the warm fire, the gnawing noise that bit into his being faded into a pleasing hum.

“I do hope they fix the grid soon.” Peggy muttered, head lolled to his shoulder, a file of SHIELD reports in hand but not really in mind. She reached for Sarah, happily pressed against her father’s chest, snoring away, oblivious once again.

“How come?”

“It’s her first Christmas.” She said matter-of-factly.

Steve hummed in response, but an eyebrow was raised, just to the base of his hairline. “So?”

“So?” Peggy echoed. “It’s special. You Americans, of all, should know.”

“I’m just saying, between celebrating Christmas on the run or in the trenches, in front of the fireplace seems nice.”

Peggy rolled her eyes fondly and gave his cheek a playful but resounding smack. “Just because it’s better doesn’t mean it’s how it should be.”

He caved in, relenting. “I know, I know.” He muttered under his breath, taking in the sight of Peggy, eyes closed and pressed up close to him. “It’s just, things you thought would never be. . .you suddenly get that life; you’re just lucky to have it.”

Peggy’s eyes flew open and flickered towards him. Her gaze softened. “We’re lucky to have you, too.”

She leaned in for a kiss. Their lips just centimeters apart, their breaths barely mingling in any way when Sarah decided it was the perfect way to get attention—by breaking the wind, no less.

Peggy mocked annoyance, playfully glaring at Sarah before taking their daughter into her hands. “Better, you say?”

She was being playful, jesting happily and he knew it. But as he watched her, bouncing their child in her lap, just living their lives, he couldn’t help but smile and agree.

“No.”

Peggy’s brows nearly furrowed, amused, her lips almost pulled into a smile. She looked like she was ready to have the last laugh.

“Better than that. It’s ours. Perfect.”


End file.
